


By hearth in the gloaming

by Telltalelily



Series: A stone upon water [2]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Cultural Misunderstandings, Dead Durins and Dwalin is sad about it, Depiction of grief, Dwarf/human power couple, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Mpreg, Stone Sense, disapproving Balin, disapproving Bard, safe for Dáin fans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2019-03-27 00:10:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13868919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Telltalelily/pseuds/Telltalelily
Summary: Winter has set in and Dwalin and Sigrid are set to marry. But the people closest to them are less than thrilled about it, triggering insecurities about the real reasons behind their engagement. During a rare few moments left alone together, they talk.





	By hearth in the gloaming

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fallingflurry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fallingflurry/gifts).



> Hi! So here is the sequel to Now welcome the weary, and it was inevitable that they would need to talk. This won't make much sense without reading that first, though I suppose it can be summed up with the words: Dwalin has no chill.  
> A million thank you's to fallingflurry for acting as my beta for this and being incredibly encouraging.  
> Please enjoy!

Erebor, the last great dwarven kingdom, was vast and warm and mostly empty. The darkened corridors lay quiet, patiently waiting to welcome her children back into her embrace. Debris littered the floors and a thick layer of dust covered hastily abandoned belongings from long ago, hidden in the impenetrable darkness. The mountain stank of reptile and dragon dung.  
And so the only sound to be heard were the echoes of Dwalin’s steel tipped boots ringing through a little used corridor as he hurried toward the training grounds. He trailed a hand along the green marble walls and felt the murmuring of the stone vibrating through his body. There was barely any light but dwarves see well in near darkness, and had anyone been there they would have seen his eyes glinting in the darkness like a cat’s.

They also would have heard the near growl intermittently rumbling through his chest. Dain had rewarded the Company with prestigious positions, and while Dwalin had been offered to be made General, he had declined. Let Dain’s other idiot officers plan mock battle strategies. He had seen the dwarves under their command fight and despaired. They could barely even handle their axes properly, and most were even more hopeless with other weapons. Dwalin didn’t know what passed for training in the Iron Hills, but he had been the measure of battle prowess in Ered Luin and it didn’t seem as though there was much of a competition to be had in Erebor reclaimed either. So he had asked for, and been granted, the position of Drill Master. Training the armed forces were now his responsibility, and he truly wouldn’t feel confident of winning any conflict if it had been otherwise.  
He was grateful to Dain for the appointment, and even more because his cousin was one of the few who had expressed genuine joy at his upcoming marriage. Bofur, Oin and Bombur had congratulated him as well; Bofur and Oin because they knew Sigrid slightly better than the rest and had come to regard Bard’s children with fondness and Bombur because he was too kind to think to be anything but happy for his friend. The rest of the Company members had reserved judgement until they knew her better. Though Ori’s eyes tended to mist over when he saw them together for some reason, and Gloin was obviously torn in his loyalties because the notable exception was Balin. His brother had not hesitated to make his disapproval known. He seemed to think that Dwalin would be much happier accompanying him on his planned expedition to reclaim Khazad-dûm than married to some young strumpet.

Dwalin growled again in anger as he thought of the rift that had opened between him and his brother. Balin’s disapproval cut him to the quick, and Dwalin missed Thorin even more acutely because of it; his brother in spirit if not in flesh. Thorin would have supported him, though he could practically hear the merciless teasing Thorin would have unleashed about how swiftly and deeply Dwalin had fallen for his intended.

And Durin’s beard had he longed to see Thorin on the throne in Erebor. They had dreamed of it together, and the only glimpse he had had of that dream coming true had been of a mad man in golden armor that wore Thorin’s face. During those dark days before the battle he had felt Thorin slipping further and further away from his side, and then it was as if the sun broke through heavy clouds and his King and friend was back. His eyes had been clear again and Dwalin had felt such relief at the sight. Shoulder to shoulder, as always, the cousins had entered the fray. And then Thorin had been lost again, together with the young princes, and this time there was no coming back.  
Dwalin felt as if he had lost a limb and was suffering phantom pains. He kept catching himself turning to share a look or a joke with Thorin, only to find him missing. And sometimes he thought he could hear the murmuring of the stone hush, as if the mountain itself was holding its breath in anticipation of cheery voices ringing through the caverns. But the princes and their uncle were forever silent, sleeping in the stone .

Dwalin sucked in a deep breath as he felt the telltale prickle starting in his eyes. With the baby on the way he had been more prone to crying, and grief certainly hadn’t helped.  
Think of something else, he sternly told himself. He ran a calloused hand over his belly. He and Sigrid were marrying the day of the winter solstice, just two weeks away. Until then they were keeping the pregnancy secret. It was apparently inappropriate to announce that children were on their way before the marriage had taken place in her culture. And Dwalin may not understand it, but if Sigrid wanted to keep the time of conception secret he would go along with it. The corner of his mouth tipped up in a self-deprecating smile. As if there was anything he wouldn’t do for her.

Bard had given his permission for Dwalin to teach Sigrid self-defense once a week, but it was apparent that he did not approve of their relationship. Moving through the dark back corridors towards the training grounds to meet her, Dwalin wondered why that was. He understood that it had been something of a surprise when he had informed Bard of his intention to marry his daughter, since her father had been unaware of the relationship, but he would have thought that the frowning would have stopped by now. Sigrid was by no means some little girl who didn’t know her own mind. She would not have agreed if she didn’t want to marry him. He frowned thoughtfully to himself. In the back of his mind, and at night when he lay alone in his bed on the cusp of sleep, the thought that she had only agreed on account of the babe gnawed at him. When they were together, it felt so obvious how well they fit and complemented each other, but once they had parted again he couldn’t help but worry that perhaps it was one-sided. And with the strict chaperoning that Bard enforced, and that he still didn’t fully understand the reasons behind, he couldn’t really ask her either. They were never alone together. The only place Bard allowed them to be unsupervised was at the training grounds, because they were never empty. There were always dwarves and sometimes Men there training, and if he didn’t want to hold private conversations where the aged matrons Bard foisted on them could hear, he certainly didn’t want to hold them in front of his own underlings. So intimate conversations were hard to come by, since he didn’t wish to share his private thoughts with anyone but Sigrid, and they were always overheard. 

He turned a corner into a wider and better lit corridor, and was halfway up a wide set of green marbled steps when he heard a high and cheerful voice call out to him. Turning around he saw little Tilda flying up the stairs with a wide grin on her face. Sigrid was following at a more sedate pace behind her, but she looked no less cheerful. The plain green dress she wore highlighted her dark hair and the silver belt around her trim waist glinted becomingly. Dwalin felt the tension in his shoulders bleed away under her smile.

“Hi!” Tilda cried when she came to a stop in front of him, beaming as if he wasn’t considered one of the most intimidating dwarves of his entire clan. And who could do anything but smile and greet her in turn when the force of nature that as Tilda turned her cheerfulness on them? Sigrid arrived just then, stopping a few steps below him on the stairs and gently touching Dwalin’s shoulder in greeting before she turned to her sister.  
“Alright, Tilda. You’ve seen me to the training grounds so you can go play now.”  
Tilda shot Sigrid a suspicious look.  
“We’re not there yet. And da said I had to go all the way there with you!”  
Sigrid sighed and rubbed her forehead.  
“I will give you my dessert if you go now, Tilda. Please?”  
But Tilda turned a mischievous smile that Sigrid well recognized her way, before declaring imperiously, “Da gave me a job to do, and you are always telling me to do as I’m told.”  
“A toy?”  
“Pfft, Bofur already makes me all the toys I want. He likes me.”  
Dwalin was standing still as pond water watching the interplay. Sigrid was well aware that he had no clue that Tilda was after a bribe, and made a mental note to disabuse him of the notion that her little sister was sweet and innocent as soon as possible. Sigrid sighed the frustrated sigh common to all older siblings anywhere.  
“I can make you a new coat. Lined with fur even, so it’s warm.”  
Tilda did look tempted, and her expression wavered for a moment before she steeled herself and mutely shook her head.  
“Just come out with it and name your price, then.”  
Tilda made a great show of pondering her options, tapping her chin in thought and murmuring to herself.  
“Well?”  
“I want a knife”, the little brat declared. “Mine is really small and no good for stabbing orcs!”  
“Now listen here–“Sigrid started, but she was interrupted by Dwalin’s deep voice.  
“Let me see your knife then.”  
Tilda pulled her dinner knife from the sheath at her belt and handed it reverently over to Dwalin. She was in awe of him, Sigrid knew, though until the orc comment she hadn’t precisely figured out why. It made sense that the hulking warrior made Tilda feel safe after the traumatic past few months they had had. He made Sigrid feel safe too, and he was helping her learn how to defend her loved ones so she wouldn’t be so powerless if they were ever threatened again. Dragons and orcs and goblins were scary and if it made Tilda feel safer to have Dwalin around she would let her try to forge a closer connection with him.  
“Aye, I see what you mean. It’s good quality, but better suited for potatoes than orcs, I think”, Dwalin said as he turned her little knife this way and that. It looked even tinier in his tattooed hands as he peered at it. He nodded to himself at whatever it was that he saw in the metal and handed the knife back before reaching into his boot to draw out a sheathed knife of his own.  
“This should suit your purposes better”, he said and handed it over to her sister. Tilda glowed with joy as she reverently received the knife. It made Sigrid uncomfortable to see a true weapon in the hands of a child, especially one who didn’t know how to use it.  
“Really, I don’t think she should have that, Dwalin.”  
“You don’t think I would let my little sister go unarmed, with only that little knife on her belt, do you? How would she defend herself from orcs?” Dwalin replied incredulously.  
“Sister?” Tilda breathed reverently.  
“Of course. To my people, when I marry your sister you will become mine also. Do your people not have that custom?” Dwalin asked.  
“Yes, I didn’t know you did too!” Tilda beamed at him as she clutched the sheathed knife to her breast, practically glowing with hero worship.  
“Good,” Dwalin rumbled gruffly. “I will teach you how to use that knife properly. Do not go waving it about until I have talked to your father about it.”  
“I won’t, promise!”  
“You got what you want, now run along, Tilda!” Sigrid sighed exasperatedly. 

The corridors rang with Tilda’s delighted giggles as she skipped down the wide steps and disappeared around a corner further down the corridor. Dwalin and Sigrid gazed after her until she was out of sight, and then finally turned toward each other, blessedly alone for the first time in what felt like a life time.  
“Hi”, Sigrid said softly as she gazed at her betrothed.  
“Hello”, Dwalin replied as he reached out a calloused hand for hers. She grasped his hand tightly and stepped closer. This near the smell of reptile and stone dust were overpowered by his scent rising up to her nose and something tight just behind her breastbone relaxed. She inhaled deeply as she bent down to capture his mouth in a soft kiss. As always, lust sparked across her skin as her focus narrowed down on this amazing and unlooked for blessing. She could never have anticipated Dwalin, and she was so happy that the dwarf had burst into their home and her heart when he did. Soon they would be married and anticipating the arrival of their baby.  
She deepened the kiss, pressing closer and licking into Dwalin’s mouth as her free hand tangled in his beard. She felt his arms clasp her hips, fingers looping around her hipbones to skim her bottom and tugging at the ends of her hair. She pressed closer as tingles skated across her scalp and tugged carefully on his bottom lip with her teeth in retaliation.  
He tore his mouth away with a groan as the sound of booted feet approached down the corridor.  
Sigrid giggled breathily and led him by the hand up the stairs as an unfamiliar dwarf came toward them.  
“Sir!” The dwarf stiffened into a deferential bow as they passed.  
“At ease, Bryngel” Dwalin rumbled, perhaps a bit more throatily than usual as they cleared the stairs and walked past.  
“Yes, Sir” echoed behind them as they walked on. The reverence the other dwarves bestowed on the members of the Company was not difficult to understand, for they had done the impossible and reclaimed Erebor for their people. The days of eking out a meager living in the vastness of Middle Earth were gone, and now they could come back and live under stone once more. An age of craft and culture had come anew, and those few who had made it possible were held up as heroes. And they were, of course. But it made Sigrid slightly embarrassed to watch dwarves many times her own age bow in gratitude as she walked past them at Dwalin’s side. He never let on that it bothered him, but the way his face looked as though it was carved from granite made it clear to her that he felt uncomfortable as well.

Sigrid cleared her throat, “That was very kind what you did. For Tilda, I mean” she amended when he raised a scarred eyebrow at her. “Though I don’t think da will be very pleased with you when she shows him the knife.”  
“No change there then,” Dwalin groused.  
“Don’t be too harsh on da. He’s just worried for me. He doesn’t disapprove of you, exactly.” Sigrid disentangled her hand from his and slipped it under his hair to rub soothingly at his neck. She had discovered quite by accident that they both liked for her fingers to slip under the neckline of his clothing to caress the soft hair on his back.  
“I think that he feels he’s failed me,” she continued softly. “He didn’t even know we had ever spoken to each other and then you appear and tell him we are getting married. By rights, he should have found a female relative to come take care of us when ma died, afford it or no, and now he thinks he hasn’t been a good da and kept us safe.”  
Dwalin’s snort let her know what he thought about that.  
“He thinks I have somehow beguiled you into marrying me then? Bribed you with jewels and tempted you with the silver belt you wear?”  
Sigrid bumped her hip against him. “Well, I don’t think anyone in Laketown ever got such a magnificent engagement present before.”   
Dwalin huffed even as a small smile sneaked on to his lips.  
“Be that as it may, I do not appreciate the implication. I am nearly 170 years old and have never felt a need to purchase myself a wife before; and no self-respecting dwarf would, at that. I show you the depth of my regard through my gifts, I do not use them to buy yours in return.”   
“I know, and I don’t doubt you. And da won’t either, once we’re married and he sees our happiness together.”  
And how could he not stop and pull her into a scorching kiss at the mention of their imminent marriage?  
Bright peals of laughter escaped their kiss and filled the mountain as Sigrid gave voice to her happiness. Dwalin felt as though the very stone of the mountain rejoiced with them; the murmur rising to twine around the bright flame burning in their hearts. For while the dwarves were made from stone, they were also created in the flaming forge of their Maker. When love burned in Mahal’s children it’s flames were never doused, and Dwalin liked to think that even though they were very different, the same went for the radiant creature in his arms. He knew that their life together would be too short. She would likely grow old and die before him, and he would be left behind once more as yet another he loved perished. He had vowed to live and not give in to his grief over Thorin and Fili and Kili, and when his wife was gone he would live for their child. But that day was still far away, and right now she was warm and vibrant against his lips. 

At length they parted, and Sigrid tugged at a round ear in admonishment. “At any rate, I don’t think my da is the only one who disapproves. I’ve heard that you and Balin bellowed at each other about it the other day.”  
Dwalin’s mood rapidly plummeted again.  
“Aye, Balin agrees as Dain’s advisor that the marriage of a princess and a dwarf of the line of Durin will improve diplomatic relations between Dale and the Mountain again. Dain was near crying with joy to have a Dalish advisor on how to handle matters with the Men. But Dain is genuinely happy for us as well. He is a distant cousin of mine, you know. But Balin thinks that his brother is foolish and blinded by grief and lust. He thinks I will come to regret our marriage soon enough, and then it will be too late.”  
Sigrid frowned as she considered his words. He slid his hands down her arms from where they had grasped the sides of her face to hold her hands between his. They were slim and long fingered, clever and dexterous, and paler than his. He liked the contrast between his large hands and hers as they twined perfectly together, as if they had been made to fit together all along.  
Lost in contemplation, he missed the sharpness returning to Sigrid’s brown eyes as they sought his paler ones again.  
“He knows about the little one, though,” she said. “Would he prefer he or she comes into the world a bastard?”  
“That is not a concern for our people,” he explained. “For dwarves, their parents and their parent’s spouse need not be the same. Children are always welcomed and for their parents to raise. The parent’s marriages are for themselves.” A thought occurred to him then. “This is not the way of your people, then? Is this why Bard insists on this ‘chaperoning’ business?”

Sigrid turned slightly pink with embarrassment. She had thought Dwalin understood the rules of courtship among her people and the risk to her reputation if it was discovered that their first born would come early and had therefor consented to it. That he had not really grasped the implications but done it anyway, just for her… It filled her with joy that he had done that just to make her happy even as she had to rock back and forth on the balls of her feet at how uncomfortable she felt that her da put him through that. That boat had already drifted off to sea, so to speak, so Bard’s attempts to preserve her modesty were more of a farce than he realized.

“Ah, yes,” she stammered. “I think I told you I am expected to stay a virgin until marriage? This is to ensure we don’t – ah, get too carried away, so to speak.”  
“Hmpf, should have thought of that before he let me into your house for the first time,” Dwalin grinned. And the memory was so good, and he looked so pleased with himself that she couldn’t help but to grin back at him as they resumed their walk.  
“I’m glad he did. We wouldn’t have our little one on the way if he didn’t, even though we can’t admit to when the baby was made.”

She had expected him to smile at the mention of the life they had created together, or perhaps waggle his eyebrows at her in remembrance of that spectacular night they had spent together in Laketown when she had gotten him pregnant (and it was still slightly strange to think of him carrying her baby, but his slightly expanded waistline as well as the chronic tiredness that had plagued him in the beginning had done much to get her used to the idea.) Instead, his expression grew clouded and the scar at the side of his head, the one she loved to trace from the bridge of his nose through his eyebrow and back along his skull above his ear grew pink as it always did when he was in the throes of some great emotion. He might think that he was as unreadable as a slab of rock, and it surprised her to learn that almost everyone else did as well, but to her he was hardly subtle. And right now, his expression and body language clearly gave away his unease. He was wrestling with something, trying to think how to put it into words, and she gave him space to straighten things out in his head instead of pushing him to give voice to them before he was ready. She merely tugged a hand free and started down the corridor again with his hand in hers.

A group of dwarves passed them, all bowing deferentially, before Dwalin spoke in a voice like a crumbling spit of rock tumbling down the side of the mountain.  
“Is that why you are marrying me, then? Because parenthood and marriage are one and the same for your kind?”  
She hated that she had unwittingly implied that to him. Instead of basking in the warmth of each other’s company, this brief window of solitude had turned much more serious than she had intended.  
Taking a deep breath, she said “You know I wasn’t sure when we met again after the battle. I spent a lot of time thinking about everything afterwards. I mean, I didn’t really think you would even be interested in courting me, and then you were. And I’m not some callous lad; of course I wanted to be there for the baby. And maybe that sped things up a bit. But Dwalin,” and she made sure to meet his blue eyes, as deep and vast as an ocean, so he could see how seriously she meant what she said next, “I love you. I agreed to marry you because I can’t imagine a life without you in it. I want to share my life, my love and my bed with you until death parts us. Never doubt that.”  
She caught his beloved face between her hands and leaned her forehead against his. This close his warm eyes were all she could see, they shared the same breath and she fully understood why the intimate gesture was the preferred way of showing affection of his people. His beard scratched slightly against her palms as a slow smile curled the corners of his mouth, and his breath fanned hotly against her face as he released his fears with a sigh.  
“That is good to hear. I love you too,” he murmured and Sigrid realized it was the first time they are really said it to each other. He showed her in a thousand little ways how dear she was to him, and she had hoped he saw the same from her. Perhaps some things needed to be given voice to be truly understood, she thought. She resolved to tell him often how loved he was from now on. “Two more weeks,” she whispered and he let out a shuddering sigh against her lips.  
“Soon,” he agreed, voice deep and throaty in a way that flooded her with arousal.

But a fairly well traveled corridor was not the place for intimacies. They basked for a moment more in the warmth of their mutual regard before they resumed their walk. They turned a corner and were met with a stray breeze of fresh air from the training grounds. Arrow slits had been carved in close intervals into the side of the mountain, letting in light and air from the wide expanse of sky outside. It kept the sanded floors well-lit together with huge chandeliers suspended from the ceiling and the smell of blood and sweat to a minimum. Several doors led to changing rooms where warriors could prepare themselves for a fight as well as several armories that held all kinds of weapons and armor.  
As they approached, Dwalin looking much more relaxed than before, joked “Best keep a hold of ourselves now. We are almost to the first armory.”  
Sigrid squeezed his hand and shot him a teasing smile as he looked up to meet her eyes.  
“Don’t you mean the birkîn?“  
His eyes darkened and his hand tightened around hers. Passion surged between them, crashing into them and fanning the banked, but never extinguished, flames higher.  
“It has a lock on the door,” Dwalin rasped hoarsely.  
Sigrid moaned in response and as they hurried down the corridor Dwalin could swear he heard the faintest echo of voices cheering them on through the stone.


End file.
